White Robes
by Apoca-LipStyx
Summary: Once a year Italy rises before either Germany or the sun and slips on his old white, Catholic robes. He thinks Germany doesn't know about it but he does, but what he doesn't know is why Italy only does it on this particular day...
1. Chapter 1

He thinks I don't notice but I do….

I keep my eyes shut, still pretending to sleep as I feel the small warm body beside me rise. This was something I'd grown accustomed to for the few decades we'd been together. The one day a year Italy rises before either me or the sun. I blink my eyes open to watch as he moves closer to the closet, the moonlight escaping thru the blinds falling parallel to the few long healed battle scars interrupting the soft, sun kissed skin of the mans back, highlighting each one as if he'd received them just yesterday. It pained me to see these marks upon the country's skin, we all had them, this was true; from centuries of wars and depressions but they seemed so misplaced on Italy's flesh. He was always smiling, always happy, always wanting to settle things peacefully, undeserving of the violence everyone knew came with them. Italy deserved the peace he so strived to create. I'd fight to give him that peace one day and then those scars would merely be a faint reminder of the past.

I watch as he digs into the back of the closet, hearing the soft metallic pinging of empty hangers brushing against each other, he looks back at me, I quickly shut my eyes, not that I really needed to it was still so dark out but I didn't want to take the chance. I peek again once I hear Italy back in the closet. I know what he's looking for, its what he gets every time. I listen for the faint rustling of old fabric before I see it. Italy's bright, white Catholic robes. He slips them on effortlessly, smoothing his small hands over the pure white fabric, then he reaches up behind him, unclasping the iron cross necklace I'd given him so long ago and placing it on the dresser. I can't help but feel a twinge of hurt as its laid aside, Italy always wears it and for him to shed it so easily is like he's shedding me.

But this is the only day he ever takes it off…..

And I don't know why….

He only ever does these things on this day, wake before dawn, wear those robes, remove the necklace and he's never told me why. Never told me why its always this day and why he does it. Ive want to ask but Ive always figured if he wanted to tell me he would. I don't know where he goes when he leaves but he's always back before I wake up again, the robes are tucked back into the wardrobe, and his face is buried in my chest, sound asleep; most times with the lingering look of tears still clinging to his eyelashes. The tears are what worry me the most….

Im pulled from my thoughts as Italy moves across the room to slip on his boots, lacing them up with ease before standing, he then retrieves his bible and rosary from the self, placing the small, white, beret like hat upon his head; completing the formal look. Italy looked like a saint standing there in the now dimly lit bedroom, nearly aglow in the white robes hanging loosely from his frame. I cant help but smile to myself.

I close my eyes again. I know what was coming next. I hear the soft shuffle of feet approaching my side of the bed along with the swish of fabric. Next a small hand pushes back the fallen stray strands of blonde hair from my eyes; the touch of his hand is warm and loving and I relax again. The touch is soon followed by a gentle press of lips to my temple that lingers momentarily before he whispers affectionately in my ear, "Ti amo, Germania…" Its in his native language, Italian, and heavy with accent but I know what he says and I cant hide the warmth that rushes over my face.

I love you, Germany….

And I thank God for the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

I feel the blankets being pulled up gently over my legs. I always kicked the covers off most nights, whether from restlessness or the occasional kicking spell. Italy found it endearing, always pulling them back over me in the middle of the night. I feel a final lingering touch to my arm before the nation exits the room, the door barely making a sound as he closes it behind him. I wait to here the front door lock to click before sitting up in the bed, running a hand back through my hair. I sigh softly, looking over on the nightstand at the clock. I wasn't even 5 am yet.

I think about it, knowing Italy couldn't be going too far. We lived in one of the oldest parts of Venice. Anywhere he ever wanted to go or anything he wanted to do was always within walking distance, mind it was usually a long walk but Italy always loved to just walk around the city. Picking flowers, going to the market, sitting outside the cathedrals to listen to the neighborhood children sing. Italy was just simple like that; the smallest things could make him the happiest. And it was something that still baffled me to this day.

I get up, kicking the blankets off my legs, swinging them off the bed to stand. I make quick work of getting dressed, throwing on a casual white button up over my usual black undershirt and slipping into a pair of khaki pants. Once dressed, I pull on a thin jacket, giving Italy's discarded iron cross necklace a final glance, before slipping out onto the street. The chilled morning air greets me, dismissing the last bit of grogginess in my system, cooling my face considerably. I look around, not finding too many people out. Mainly just a few elderly tending to their plants or sitting outside their homes, humming unfamiliar tunes while sipping a cup of espresso and waiting for the warm sun to rise, enjoying the mild morning. I flash a small smile to each one as I walk by, receiving a nod in return. A few vendors are setting up shop as well, pushing their carts or hanging their signs, all working quietly, keeping the near stillness in the air.

I turn the corner, finally making it to the main street along the canal, I keep my eyes open for Italy, knowing the man couldn't have gotten much farther. I look out over the waters of the canal, seeing the tall buildings on either side, an early morning fog settled along the surface of the water between them. It was eerily picturesque and breath taking, the only other sounds besides the soft slapping of water and the occasional thumping of boats against the sides of the canal where footsteps.

My own and those around me.

Being a main street, I had expected it to be more crowded but even that didn't disrupt the near silent ambiance of the morning atmosphere. It was a wonder all in itself.

I hear a sound up ahead, that familiar warm chirping of Italy's voice. It's followed by a soft laugh. I finally see him in a flutter of pure white, short russet hair standing out against it. He's talking to an old woman, her gnarled hands clasped in his warmly. He talks to her sweetly in Italian, the sound like honey to the ears. Italy was regarded highly among the older citizens, for they held the essence of the nation itself. He continues to converse with her, the old woman giving his arm a small pat before pulling away, handing the nation a small package wrapped in brown paper and string, most likely a few pastries or some sort of sweet bead. He thanks her graciously before continuing on his way. I follow behind slowly, a warm blush rising in my cheeks. I knew it looked bad following him around like this but I was truly curious. I wanted to know what made today so special and why Italy felt the need to hide it, especially from me. I mean we've been together for so long now. Was it really something Italy couldn't entrust to me?

I quickly clear the thoughts from my head as I feel the questions lay heavy in my heart.

**A/N: Hey there! Sorry for taking so long but between finding a new job and keeping up with life in general lol its kinda hard to get inspired to write :) I do hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as i loved finally writing it...next chapter will be better :) Please please please review! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

I take a deep breath, shaking free the feelings and built up questions in my mind. A breeze picks up as I continued following Italy along the street, with it, it carried the smell of dew covered flowers mixed with fresh baking bread from the shops nearby. Oddly, it was calming. It reminded me of the nights when I'd return home from week long diplomatic business trips overseas or meeting with other countries on my boss' orders. I'd come home to find the nation baking one of my favorite desserts. His hair dusted white with flour, his chin smeared with a stray bit of batter, and his apron smudged with frosting. He'd turn to see me with that bright grin, running to throw his arms around my neck and welcome me home. Then I'd start cleaning by kissing the small remnants of ingredients from his face. And he'd smell just like this…..wildflowers and fresh bread….

I loved that smell….

My eyes scan the crowd ahead of me, eyes once again locking on Italy's bright attire, watching the man continue at a leisurely pace along the canal. I slip my hands inside the pockets of my jacket, fingers fidgeting with a loose string along the inner seam as my mind wanders back to the question of what Italy was doing, where he was going, why he was doing it; grasping at threads.

I look along the water and the surrounding buildings, noticing we were in a familiar area. Italy had a gondola docked nearby. He used it when running errands for the churches or at night when he'd take us thru the city singing softly at the sky and tell me stories of how in the spring the waters resembled smooth sea glass jeweled with stars and fogged with moonlight. I see the small boat up ahead, watching as the nation heads straight for it, using one of the side stairs to go to the small dock along the water, it wasn't far down just a few small steps. I stop walking as I near him, afraid of being spotted. I move near a narrow alley, out of the way of the passing people and out of the way of Italy's sight. He places the few items in his arms in the bottom of the gondola, reaching for the long oar in return. He skillfully mounts himself at the back of the boat, untying it from the dock, and pushing off into the water, rowing slowly and steadily along the canal. I wait a minute before following after, staying a bit closer to the water's edge as I know Italy was unlikely to look behind him when manning the gondola, especially if it was this early and he was the only one out on the water for as far down as the eye could see.

I turn my head towards the now rising sun peeking over the tops of the buildings on the opposite side of the waterway; its warmth reaching the tops of my cheeks, casting lines of light across the concrete. I watch as it paints the sky a soft pastel pink, with fiery shades of orange and red that mingled with the violet of the lingering night. The water reflects it, making it look like the sky bled into the canal and made it all one giant atmosphere. I can't help the sigh as the air rushes from my lungs at the sight of Italy gliding across the water colored surface, the stark white of his robes blowing in the morning breeze the perfect contrast. I feel a throb in my heart as a sense of familiarity at seeing Italy this way floods my chest, the stinging of involuntary tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I stop abruptly, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, closing my eyes to push the feeling away. I listen to the soft sounds of the people walking by, letting it keep me grounded. I got these feelings from time to time, strong feelings of longing and wanting to reach out and scream for the nation. Even before we were what we are now. The feelings grew stronger the longer we stayed together. And I didn't know why. There was so much I didn't know….

My eyes fly open as a melody reaches my ears. I look towards the water seeing Italy a ways up the canal, I run after him, weaving my way in and out of the few people in the way, not wanting to lose sight of the country. Once I had caught up I slowed to my earlier pace. The melody was louder now. Italy was singing. There was no doubt about it. There was no one I knew who could sing like that other than the country himself. The song was in Italian; soft and…sad. So sad.

I looked on, drawing a bit closer to the gondola, watching on in a mix of amazement and sorrow as Italy sang out louder, the emotion visibly setting heavy across his small shoulders. His voice gave a bittersweet ring to the melancholic tune, even some of the pedestrians had stopped to watch as he went by. He disappeared from view as he ducked under an approaching bridge, but only momentarily, appearing on the other side; free hand brushing off his robes. He turns towards the opposite bank and I see his face, my heart sinks to my stomach. Even from this distance I can see the wet glitter of tears on his cheeks.

" We will meet again someday….my dear one…"

Even in Italian I knew what Italy had sung, I was steadily trying to learn just as Italy was trying to learn German. I wasn't in the least bit fluent but I knew enough. The phrase struck something deep inside me, the feeling reverberated into my bones and across my skin, those feelings of longing returning full force; those tears stung fiercely once again in my eyes, blurring Italy from my sight, my vision in white.

This was a funeral hymn. Italy was mourning…..

**A/N: Hi there! I was finally able to get the third chapter written and I hope you really like it...I actually had a lot of trouble getting this one down because I just wasn't sure how to do til one day i just got a sudden inspiration from tumblr lol Please, please, please review and tell me what you think! :) I love hearing from you! Thank you for reading and hopefully chapter 4 will be out soon :P**


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